Last week, we asked our Facebook and Twitter fans to submit questions to ask Marina Abramović on the occasion of the end of her epic performance piece, The Artist Is Present, on Monday, May 31. We got an amazing response! Special thanks to our Facebook fans Tal Brog, Sean Capone, Nicolette Brink, and Linda Wachtel, and our Twitter followers samtlam, ArtInitiative, and scriptophobe, for the questions they submitted. On Tuesday morning, we were the first to interview the artist. Here are her answers:

What were some surprises you encountered during the performance? What insights did they contribute?

When I conceived this piece I really left it open to what’s going to happen, but the surprises I have are about the participation of the people—how people in New York accepted the piece and started sitting a really long time with me. This was especially interesting because, as we know, the American culture is an extremely materialistic culture and is based on money, and work, and the intensity of moving and living, and going always to the next thing. Here, everything was about stillness and about literally doing nothing and being in the present. So to expect an American to come to the Museum and sit seven hours, and not only sit for a long time but also to come back again and again, and create a community around this piece, this was very surprising. And I think especially the community—how the people actually started meeting each other around the work, how this circulated and how they continue to get into kind of a friendship situation—that was a really new thing to me.

How did your experience change depending on whether people sat for a short time or a long time?

It was much better if the people sat longer than shorter because there was more time to work with the material, with the energy. When they sit for a short time, it’s kind of a short investment and they can’t get as much out of it. For me, it’s very important that I create the kind of circumstances in the space that when people come into that zone they actually forget about the time. And this really happened—people came and sat with me for forty minutes and they were thinking it was ten minutes, so they lost the sense [of time]. The longest sitting is definitely a more transformative experience for me and for the audience, too.

What do you make of the fact that so many people became emotional?

What is very new about this performance is that we always perceive the audience as a group, but a group consists of many individuals. In this piece I deal with individuals of that group and it’s just a one-to-one relationship. So, when you enter the square of light and you sit on that chair, you’re an individual, and as an individual you are kind of isolated. And you’re in a very interesting situation because you’re observed by the group (the people waiting to sit), you’re observed by me, and you’re observing me—so it’s like triple observation. But then, very soon while you’re having this gaze and looking at me, you start having this invert and you start looking at yourself. So I am just a trigger, I am just a mirror and actually they become aware of their own life, of their own vulnerability, of their own pain, of everything—and that brings the crying. [They are] really crying about their own self, and that is an extremely emotional moment.

For people who didn’t have the chance to sit with you but observed on the sidelines, what do you think the experience of the piece was from this purely external perspective?

First, there was an enormous amount of young people, which was for me very significant. We are living in this culture that is so isolated—everything is on the computer, and Twitter and blogs—so the people really lost the self a long time ago and they are so desperate to find something else. They invest an enormous amount of time waiting to actually get to sit. The last months it was this phenomenon where people first started [waiting] at six in the morning, then midnight, and the last few days the museum would close and if they didn’t sit they would just go around the block and start sitting until the next day. So, for me, the waiting to sit is a very important part of the piece because it’s not just about being there in the front, it’s about taking that time, and going through the process. To me, the waiting and the sitting itself are actually complementary.
Was there ever a point during the project where you were overwhelmed or wanted to quit?

You know, I never in my entire life quit a performance…except for if I will be hospitalized for any external reasons. Probably because my parents were two national heroes, quitting is not an option. I think if you have in your mind to quit, you are going to quit, but I never had this as an option. To me, my motto is if you say no to me, it’s just the beginning. But it was difficult, extremely difficult. The April month was very, very hard. In April, we had five Fridays, which means ten hours of sitting (editor’s note: the Museum is open from 10:30 a.m. to 8 p.m. on Fridays), and that was crucial because with seven hours the body adopts a rhythm, but the Friday always breaks the rhythm into pieces. It’ll be ten hours and the next day immediately seven hours, so I left the Museum to sleep a little and I’m already [back] in the Museum. That was really the hardest time, because I have lots of physical problems, you know, by being still—my legs, my shoulders, my arms.

But at the same time, I learned so much about my body. I learned that in your body you have so much space and you can actually move inside that. There is space between organs, there is space between bones, there is space between atom and cell, so you can actually start training yourself to breathe a kind of air into that space. And then I understood that the pain is actually not having space, it’s when organs and everything press inside, so by breathing air you can make the pain just disappear. And also [there] is a kind of mental commitment, you can actually concentrate to remove the pain away. These three months were a great exercise for me. By the end of this piece I actually had less pain than in the beginning. It’s interesting how you can solve that problem.

Do you classify your performances as successes or failures? And if so, do you think this performance will have changed you or your future practice?

For me, the performance is really important. I learn from my performances, not my life—because in life I always tend to do what I like and that’s kind of a disaster. But in performance I always put a very high task, which I have to complete, and because of the difficulties, I learn in the process, and I really make tremendous change in my private life. But this piece, I think it’s the most difficult task I’ve ever done. These three months it was a huge commitment mentally and physically, and I believe now that long durational work has absolutely the biggest potential to change you mentally and physically—the performer who performs, and also the audience who take task and give themselves time to be changed with the piece itself. So it works in both ways, not just me but the audience also, because the long durational work has this potential, it’s a kind of life energy extension.
Why did you decide to remove the table mid-performance?

Many years ago I was always talking about future art and I was thinking about this idea of how in the future objects should be removed and it should be just the transmission of energy between [artist] and the public. In the end of April I had the man with a wheelchair and in the middle of this piece I realized that I didn’t even know he had legs because the table is there, I don’t see. So I decided to remove the table and when I removed the table then the piece started having sense to me. I know now that I’m really interested more and more in immaterial art, that removing the table is just this direct connection. And I think that reached the point with the public reaction emotionally the most. I mean, everybody comes there, sits five minutes, and is already in tears, crying. It really removed all the obstacles.

This piece definitely changed me on a very deep level. And also, I realized how unimportant things are that had been important to me, how everything is actually such simplicity. We make this crazy life, and decisions. The first thing I’m thinking is to sell my apartment. I want a small room, because I don’t need all this. It’s really incredible how that works.

What sort of preparation did you go through for this performance?

To do this piece I had to go through really strict training and it took me a long time. Six months before, I became vegetarian. I eat at certain times because of digestion. I never went to the bathroom, and Jerry Saltz (art critic for New York Magazine) made all this effort to find out how I pee. After the second day of the performance, [I realized] it will never happen. I take the last pee at 8 in the morning. In the evening when I sleep, this was really difficult to train. I have to take water every 45 minutes and sleep, and 45 minutes and sleep, because not to dehydrate during the night. But then during the day I didn’t [have to pee]. And then I had this very strict diet with very light food and only eating in the morning very certain things and in the evening. I didn’t engage in any social events. I didn’t talk to my friends, except the curator and the doctor and [a few other] people. I had problems with my eyes. I went to the eye doctor because it was a real problem and I explained to him what I was doing and he said, “Yes, but why are you doing this?” So he could not help.

When I stopped yesterday it was overwhelming emotionally, really absolutely overwhelming. And I still don’t really realize what happened. It’s like a dream. And I know tomorrow I have the symposium and then I will go to the countryside which I really, really need, and stay until the end of the month. I need to hug the tree and put the feet into river. I’ve been under artificial light for three months and go home, artificial light, go home.

I’ve been looking by now into 1,565 pair of eyes, which is lots of eyes, and the people who I look, I know them, they’re like family. And yesterday it was incredibly emotional when I came out and I saw them. They’re there and I know them. I remember all of them. I know the shoes and the eyes, not the body, because I always look at the shoes and then eyes. And then the mysterious Paco, who had been there twenty-one times and tattooed that number on his arm.

Comments

This experiment/performance piece is very moving. I realize that it’s a very simple concept – I’ll sit here and you sit across from me – but in the silence and the setting it was in, it’s amazing what effects it had on people. It made the viewer part of the artwork, in a very naked way. I think it’s brilliant.

I’m wondering if some of the emotional reaction had to do with the city it was presented in. I just moved away from New York, and while I was there I felt like I witnessed an excessive amount of bottled up emotions, suppressed hardships and frustrations, a pain that nobody wanted to admit.

There’s this strange “strength” in attitude there, a cockiness, but I feel like people are hurting much more than they let on. New Yorkers can easily be over-worked, under-paid, poorly-rested, lonely, pest-infested, polluted, over-stimulated; it’s a fairly toxic environment. I’m wondering if the performance would have the same reaction, or been as successful, with viewers in other locations.

My experience was life-changing. I was in the gallery many times and kept up with the exhibit every day via the web-cam. I miss the quiet intensity …profound peace and feeling of kindness that seemed emerged from the people who sat with Marina, or just watched in the gallery…the power of vulnerability…the calmness that washed over peoples emotions. The need to connect with another individual…to be still and feel the power of “silence” I look forward to visiting Marina”s Art Center in Hudson NY…I am very familiar with the area…

It is wonderful to have this interview from Marina, answering questions that have been on many a visitor’s mind, and art critics *so fast*!

This has to be an historical moment – both for performance artists, past and present, the MoMA and Marina herself of course. The MoMA can now also be dubbed the Museum of **Contemporary** Modern Art, not just the old Modern Art of the last century. And Marina achieved her two main objectives very successfully: she (1) brought to the public’s attention some of the roots of performance arts and its pioneering artists, with her re-enactments of past pieces, and (2) provided a brilliant example of a new performance artist’s performance.
That performance (2) was not at all understood from the start by many critics and most were cautious if not dubious in their appraisal of its success, at the beginning. And more than a few people still do not understand its import.
Many will no doubt ponder the eternal question of its meaning, or is it art? At the very least this might help remind some that art needs for one to be present either to conceive it or to appreciate it fully.
Although not a fan of Marina’s initially, like many I have been caught in the Marina theatrics and its out-of-stage manifestations and assembled a mini blog of sorts if only for my own reference athttp://www.flickr.com/photos/nycandre4635624515/

Thank you for taking my questions. It is gratifying to hear the artist’s initial thoughts about her experience with stillness and silence. I look forward to hear more after Marina processes the piece while being with nature and daylight in the countryside.

The sounds of the gallery, the footsteps, the ambiance,the cameras the noise i imagine must have faded away, and the sound from within must have been so strong to create so much emotion.Truly beautiful, a very powerful yet vulnerable and delicate piece.

stillness speaks! this piece is very beautiful and spiritual. what a gift to invite people to be still and present in this life. i love what Ms. Abramovic said about breathing and space. i hope it taught people the importance of stillness and meditation in our everyday lives when so much is filled with noise. not just external but more importantly internal noise created by our own minds. bravo Ms. Abramovic! peace and love to you.

Reading Ms. Abramovic’s words has helped me substantially to understand this work. Thank you. Not having the privilege of visiting MOMA (I’m in S.A) and thus participating in it, my understanding was limited. I was fascinated by the notion of art as mediation before and drawing the viewer into the work and this seems the most perfect response to that.

Thank you also to Stefanie June 3 2:27pm for her comments. I’m inclined to agree with her.

young Belgrade born artist Aneta Stojnic,recently made a performance named “The Dessert is Present” that enters a dyalog with Marina Abramovic on many interesting levels, critically cross-refering Marina Abramovic’s performance “The Artist is Present” and her “Volcano flambé” collaboration with Park Avenue Winter:

“At the elegant “Park Avenue Winter”, artist Aneta Stojnic orders the “Vulkano Flambé” – a
dessert especially created by Marina Abramovic, as a whiter season specialty on a menu of this
restaurant. However, she does not consume it by eating it. She places herself across
the table from the dessert and sits silently, focused, concentrated, looking at the dessert
for a long while. After about an hour she finally gets up and walks away.”

Im didnt see the exhibition but I saw the documentary on Swedish television. I was mesmorized through the last hour of the program. I learnt so much about human psychology: how people came to see Marina but instead saw themselves in her reflection, they came to be loved. Many visitors had not met the eyes of a loved one for a long time and when Marina looked right at them and into them and smiled they fell apart and felt imense humiliation and small. They came to be healed: Marina taught them about loosing time and space to feel the weight of time pushing down on them like a heavy blanqette. It was like meditiation. People came to believe: one small boy was moved by sitting with Marina started to cry. His mum started crying and the boy asked her why she was crying. She said: because I am proud of you.
I also felt at one point after following Marinas journey up to the exhibition that I too had fallen in love with her. I also felt one with her without the sense of time. She reached out to me in my couch many miles away from her scene.
How can a woman that was not shown love as a kid, make another person feel love and humiliation without touch after 5 minutes. What a human being you are, Marina Abramovic!

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